


inertia

by passerines



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, BAMF Women, BIG question mark around friends, Cussing, Duelling, Dysfunctional Family, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Family Issues, Fix-It of Sorts, Long-Distance Friendship, Not Beta Read, Not Canon Compliant, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pureblood Politics (Harry Potter), Quidditch, Seer Luna Lovegood, Tags Are Hard, Time Travel, Time Travel Fix-It, Tom Riddle Being an Asshole, does across space-time count as long distance?, flying by the seat of our pants here folks, gendered slurs, oc is sirius black's daughter
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-20
Updated: 2020-02-20
Packaged: 2021-02-27 22:29:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22813114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/passerines/pseuds/passerines
Summary: People like to say that Mother Magic has no favorites but as Altaira stares down the wand that's leveled at her by some random Death Eater, she knows that's utter bullshit.{time travel fic}
Relationships: Tom Riddle/Original Female Character(s), minor harry potter/original female character
Comments: 4
Kudos: 25





	inertia

**Author's Note:**

> inertia (n.)
> 
> the tendency for an object in motion to maintain its present velocity and direction until acted upon by an outside force

There is nary a sound in the parlor - all attention focused solely on the clash of wills happening before them. Altaira doesn’t even blink at the attention, just continues to stare dead-eyed from the plush armchair by the fire. To his credit, Kingsley Shacklebolt doesn’t waver under her admittedly intimidating stare. 

He moves to the chair across from the young girl, ignoring Kreacher’s emphatic insults for his lack of manners.

He knows there’s no point in arguing with her, she’d inherited her father’s stubbornness and from the set of her jaw, she was gearing up for a fight.

“No.” 

Better to not give her even an inch. 

“I’m not asking.” 

Because _of course_ it would be too simple for her to just _listen_. 

“You cannot go on an unsanctioned mission.” It’s a…pathetic argument to say the least and from the sneer turning her lips it’s clear she feels the same way but they’ve been talking in circles for _hours_ and, Mother Magic help him, he’s running out of both patience and ideas. 

He searches about for someone, _anyone_ , that she’ll listen to, from the Weasley’s - who he knows have already tried - to Tonks - who just raises an eyebrow, same as her cousin - before finally landing on Lupin. 

Oh _dear_ Remus who clearly reads the desperation in the lines of his face and interjects in a brilliant impression of an adult who actually knows how to talk to a teenager. 

“Altaira,” he starts calmly, voice a hushed whisper, “you _cannot_ do this. You-Know-Who’s influence grows stronger everyday. If you go….If you go, you may not come back.” 

Her eyes slip shut at that, mind clearly drifting back. Has it truly barely been almost two years since they were last in the Department of Mysteries? Tears prick the corner of her eyes when she thinks about it, thinks about the fight, the pain, all that she’s _lost-_

She snaps her eyes back open, leveling the man in front of her with a heated glare. 

“Is there any other choice?” She whispers furiously, continuing on before he even has a chance to vocalize anything. “The Trio are on the run, Kingsley’s too public, the Weasley’s are being watched, you’d be dead before you could even get a foot in, Moody _is_ dead, Dumbledore is dead, and my da- _Sirius_ is-is too.” 

The tears well up again but she blinks them away furiously.

“You are a _child_.” And though he’s as earnest as she’s ever seen him, so desperate to get her to understand that he cannot fail his best friends _again_ , she can’t help the scoff that tumbles out of her. 

“I haven’t been a child for quite some time.”

It takes every ounce of Gryffindor courage for Remus to not hang his head in shame at her bitter remark. He thinks of Harry, so young with the world on his shoulders, of Ron and Hermione, so dedicated, so _loyal_. Of the children trapped in Hogwarts under the Carrows’s rule. 

(And a part of him had _burned_ with a rage so strong it could match his _other_ form when he saw the marks on Altaira’s body)

Is this what they’ve been fighting for? What they’ve died for? So that a bunch of children can take up the mantle and be slaughtered at the hands of the ignorance and cruelty that they were too weak to stop?

He startles out of his thoughts when warm hands wrap around his. 

“Moony,” his heart stops in his chest because her eyes are gleaming and he swears he can hear Sirius in her words and _see him_ in her eyes, “I’m doing this for all of you.” She looks deliberately at Tonks. “For everything that could be.” 

He wants to _scream_. Wants to grab her by the shoulders and drag her to one of Walburga’s torture rooms and throw away the key. He knows Kreacher will help him, anything to protect the great Lady Black, but he can’t _say_ anything, can’t _do_ anything because _Sirius is talking to him_ just as well as Altaira is. 

Her eyes stay on his, warm and kind in a way he doesn’t deserve as the silence stretches on until Kingsley, realizing that they have well and truly lost, let’s out a huff of frustration. 

“You will not do anything until I tell you.” He barks out, the most obvious he’s ever made his anger. “You _will_ wait until I get you updated maps. Do you understand?”

Altaira readily agrees, a victorious gleam lighting her eyes. 

Kingsley grumbles to himself before apparating out, not even bothering with his usual politeness. 

“Well,” George claps his hands loudly together, “now that that’s sorted let’s have some fun, yeah?” 

Tonks snorts in amusement, waddling out of the parlor and towards the kitchen. “What’s there to eat here anyways?” Hestia Jones follows after her with a chuckle, patting Altaira’s shoulder on her way out. 

The rest of the group filters out after that, setting the table for dinner. It’s a tradition they’ve grown used to after the first time Kreacher had vehemently denied Sirius’s requests to set the table. 

_“Kreacher only serves the House of Black,” he had sneered at the two remaining heirs, “the blood-traitors are bad enough but Kreacher will not serve their friends. No, no, no.”_

Dedalus Diggle barks out a sharp laugh, clapping George hard on the shoulder. George, for his part, doesn’t shy away from the hit, practically preening under the laughter instead as he sets up the radio for another Potterwatch broadcast. Mrs. Weasley is bustling around, clearly doing the most work, stopping every so often to check on her husband with Bill acting as her shadow. On Arthur’s other side is Elphias Doge who’s wrapped in a fierce conversation about finances with Fleur. 

A smile worms its way onto her face as she takes in the cacophony of sound, so different from what she’s known for so long. She takes them all in, the comfort, the joy, the tension, the sharp whip of anxiety that has curled itself viciously around each of their spirits, growing stronger the longer Harry, Ron, and Hermione remain missing. 

She would do _anything_ for these people - for _her_ people. 

Altaira shifts her gaze back to the man in front of her. His eyes haven’t left her this whole time, waiting for the slightest hint of hesitation that he can pounce on and use to dissuade her. 

“You should get in there Moony.” She squeezes his hands softly. “Can’t let Tonks eat nothing but treacle tarts.” 

A wry smile curls his lips but he listens to her, pausing briefly at her side to rest a hand on her head. 

“He’d be _so_ proud of you.” 

Her breath hitches in her throat. 

She turns her watery gaze to the flames roaring in the fireplace, willing the heat to burn her tears away. A few minutes pass when a _pop_ sounds beside her. She doubletakes when she sees Kreacher standing there, wringing his hands in uncharacteristic apprehension. 

“What’s the matter?” 

He hesitates for a moment, staring at her with a calculated shrewdness that he hasn’t used in some time. 

“Kreacher does not have a good feeling about what’s to come for the young Mistress Black.” 

Altaira turns fully in her seat towards him, face wiped completely clean of any expression. This isn’t exactly a conversation she expected.

“What do you mean, Kreacher?” 

The look in his eyes is one she’s never seen him wear before - a mixture of disappointment, frustration, and the unmissable tinge of _fear_. 

(It’s the same look Walburga’s portrait gave Sirius when he first came back to 12 Grimmauld Place.)

“The Mistress Black is not one of the favored.” 

Silence settles heavy over the two of them, equal parts bewildered and grim. Just as she begins to ask a question, though, he disappears with a _pop!_

“What the fuck?” She asks herself instead, grey eyes transfixed on where he just was. And here she thought the two of them had come to actually get along.

A frown creases her face. 

_Favored?_

Favored by _what_?

Before she can start spiraling down the rabbit hole, the radio crackles. 

_“Welcome back ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, centaurs and veelas, to another episode of Potterwatch. I’m your ever faithful, ever brilliant, ever hilarious host, River. Due to certain circumstances, I have neither Romulus nor Royal here with me today so instead we must all suffer through the_ un- _hilarious,_ un _-brilliant, and slightly faithful Rapier.”_

George rolls his eyes at that but still leans in eagerly, almost engulfing the radio before Bill pulls him back.

_“Is that what passes for a joke nowadays? I have to say River, I feel as if you’ve really been phoning it in lately.”_

_“Phoning it in? Oh lovely listeners, it’s truly only because of your weird concern for Rodent’s well being that I let him on.”_

_“The name is_ not _Rodent.”_

Altaira smiles while listening to the bickering. It never ceases to amaze her how easily the two - three, really, including George - always manage to inject lightness into such a horrid situation. She doesn’t know what she’d do without them, what _anyone_ would do without the practical rays of sunshine every week. To have faith in Harry is one thing but to have hope for the future? She doubts there would be any if not for their efforts. 

Scooping a bit of mash onto her plate, she drops a short kiss to the top of Tonks’s head and moves out into the hallway. She winds corner after corner until finally coming to a hallway unlike any other in the otherwise dreary home. Large windows point out to the gardens behind the house, flowers brushing gently against the pane. The setting sun peeks through the vines and branches, casting a beautiful glow around her. She takes it in with a deep sigh before settling down on the ground across from the blank spot on the wall where Sirius’s portrait should have been.

\- & -

Preparations take….longer than anyone had expected. Not long after the night where Kingsley had finally given in, news had trickled down that Voldemort had finally taken over the Ministry. It was a long time coming and though no one was surprised, it was still a great blow to the Order. Now, more than ever, it was clear that they were well and truly alone in this fight. 

The final push to action comes when Altaira is handed a note in Hogsmeade, having snuck off to retrieve the items Mundungus Fletcher had pilfered from her home. She had stared, shocked, at the boy handing it to her. His skin had grown so pale and drawn that it practically matched his hair. Grey eyes that had once challenged her so readily were cast down, not moving from the ground. The exchange had taken less than a minute but Altaira could still feel the hopelessness practically leaking out of him. 

Before she could ask him any questions though, he disappeared. 

She moved quickly to the Three Broomsticks, now a shell of its former self, and ducked back into a corner. The handful of people there eyed her with suspicion, some even with outright contempt but she just stared back, hand moving pointedly to the wand at her side. Giving up, they turned back to their mugs, muttering under their breath. 

Altaira was no fool, though, she knew she only had a matter of minutes before Death Eaters stormed the building for her. Ripping through the protective charm around the letter, Altaira concentrated a small amount of her magic into the paper to reveal the message. 

Her heart practically stops at the sight of Hermione’s handwriting. 

It’s shaky and blurred from both tears and what looks to be dried _blood_ but it’s unmistakably hers. 

_Altaira,_

_Though the frost slams against the windows, the fire still burns bright. A star has struck close to the hearth and damage has been done but the embers licked it away. A poker has been lost in the mess. Where once was the ocean’s prize is where we rise and to another day comes the dawn._

_Pen_

Scarcely a minute after she finishes rereading the letter an owl hoots from its perch, alerting her to the shadowy figures moving towards the bar through the window. Without much grace, Altaira flies out of her seat and out of the building, dodging through the practically empty alleys until she finally finds a spot where she can apparate away. 

Her mind is racing as she thinks over the letter. Clearly someone has been hurt and someone else has died but she knows it can’t be one of the Trio. As much as she hates to admit it, there is no way Hermione would be so composed if one of them had died so it had to be someone else but _who?_ And how in the world did _Draco_ , of all people, not only get his hands on it but know to give it to her? 

With curiosity as her companion, Altaira makes quick work of apparating to the last place they would’ve been, feeling only a bit sorry for interrupting Bill and Fleur again. 

It’s a dizzying few minutes while her essence moves through ward after ward. She can feel them reaching in to mingle with her magic before leaving just as quickly and reforming behind her. To call them impressive would be an understatement - even with the knowledge that Bill’s a cursebreaker, the only wards she’s seen stronger than these are the ones that surround 12 Grimmauld Place. Had the Death Eaters been able to discern their location, she doubts they’d even be able to step a foot on the ground beneath her. 

She moves easily into a kneeling position on the ground, dropping her wand a few paces away; not too far that she can’t get to it but far enough that she’s not an immediate threat. It takes much longer than she’s comfortable with for figures to start approaching her but it takes only minutes for them to recognize her and start racing down from the cottage. 

A shock of curly hair slams hard into her, knocking her over and onto her back. Before she can even think of responding in kind, though, Hermione is yanked back and a familiar wand takes her place, digging ruthlessly into the area under her chin. 

Flinty grey eyes meet hardened green and it takes everything in her not to summon her wand to her hand. 

“In the moments before Sirius was attacked by dementors at the Great Lake, what did he say to us?”

The question is unfair but she can see the way that Hermione is cradling her arm behind Ron’s back, his stare just as unwelcoming as Harry’s. If this is what they need for comfort then fine, she’ll give it to them. 

“No matter what happens, they can never take this memory from me.” 

Silence stretches on for a minute too long and just as she’s about to prepare herself for a hex, Harry’s face crumples and he all but falls onto her, burying his face into the side of her neck. The sobs don’t come willingly, tearing through him with the force of a thousand storms as he shatters around her. The other two don’t wait a moment longer, rushing forward to join their friends. 

The grief surrounding them is so poignant and raw that for a moment, all breath escapes her. All she can do is wrap them all as tightly as she can in her arms and hope that’s enough. 

Bill eventually ambles out, ushering the group inside and towards the dining room with a wary look inside. For all the warmth in his voice, there’s none on his face. A dark frown is on his face, tugging harshly on his scars. She fully expects to see the expression reflected on the faces of the rest of the group but a part of her still shatters at the looks on their faces. Fleur, at least, manages a small smile in her direction, kissing her cheeks easily and shifting in her spot to give her access to Luna.

She reaches a hand out to settle on the younger girl’s head, stopping short when she flinches back, only settling when Dean wraps an arm around her shoulders. Hazy eyes glance up at her curiously, a small smile forming on her face.

“The wrackspurts lead you here.” 

Altaira just nods along, sharing a strained smile with Dean. He’s more worn than she’s ever seen with a scar cutting diagonally across his cheek and a distant part of her remembers that he never did come to school at the start of the fall term. 

She takes up the chair across from Hermione and right beside Harry, waiting until everyone’s gathered themselves before asking the question she knows she doesn’t want the answer to. 

“What happened?” 

Harry sucks in a sharp breath from her right, calming slightly when her hand finds his. Hermione, too, from her spot across the table begins shaking. Her eyes naturally turn to Ron, the only one among them to still have an ounce of composure. He takes a deep breath in and out before finally moving weary eyes up to meet her gaze and telling her a story that ages him at least ten years. 

She can feel the anger swelling inside of her, red practically tinging her vision. It’s only through sheer determination that she doesn’t look at Hermione with pity or Harry with frustration, keeping her gaze locked firmly on Ron. His ears are turning red the more he talks, the fire he usually reserves for the quidditch pitch clear in his eyes. For a moment she’s taken aback, this is _not_ the same boy that smiled cheekily at her in the Burrow, the one that was caught in between the fierce battle between his jealousy and his undying loyalty, the boy that was so deeply entrenched in his best friend’s shadow that he had no hope for his own legacy. 

By the time Ron finishes recounting the past few weeks, including Dobby’s death and Draco’s help in getting out of the Manor, Altaira’s vision is swimming. They sit together in the quiet, a moment of silence for the innocence her friends had ripped away from them. 

They break for the evening not long after, Bill and Fleur going to tend to Griphook and Ollivander while Ron, Hermione, Dean and Luna all retreat to their rooms. Harry stays still at her side, taking comfort in her presence. It’s been so long since he’s last seen her, he doesn’t even know what to say. 

“It was all my fault,” he mutters eventually, anguish coloring every word.

Altaira doesn’t inundate him with meaningless words of encouragement - he doesn’t know whether he should be grateful for that or not - she just reaches out and grabs his hand in hers. 

“I don’t think I can beat him,” he whispers to her, voice catching at the end. She squeezes his hand harder, “I can’t beat him and I’m going to get you all killed.”

He turns to face her completely, eyes pleading with her to understand.

“Everything has always been because of _me_ and now you’re all going to _die_ because I won’t just give him what he wants.”

“He was a psychopath before you were ever in the picture Harry,” she scoffs, interlacing their fingers.

 _“_ You’re going to _die_ , _”_ he whispers furiously. 

“Well do you want to give up?” She snaps back, eyes narrowing at him.

“W-what?” 

“Do you want to give up? Sacrifice yourself or whatever so that he can get all the power in the world and nobody can stand in his way?” 

“Of course not!”

“Then shut up,” she says simply, as if that’s the only answer he needs, as if it’s that _simple_ but before he can start arguing, she starts talking again. “Harry, you’re not holding your wand to our necks and forcing us into this. We’re _choosing_ to fight. Choosing to make these sacrifices.

“And it’s not just for you, you numpty,” she takes his other hand as well, “it’s because he’s a fucking pillock that deserves to be blasted from the Earth. We’re fighting him because we hate him and we’re following you because we _believe_ in you so quit your pity party and get your chin up.” 

Harry stays silent, dropping his eyes to his lap. 

“It’s okay to be scared, Harry,” she whispers when the silence goes on for too long, “I’m scared too, downright terrified but we can’t let that stop us.”

His eyes meet hers again, searching for answers to a question he doesn’t know how to ask. Finally he leans back, the smallest smile quirking his lips. 

“Until the end, huh?” 

She smiles back at him, squeezing both hands, “until the end.”

Altaira sends Harry to bed after that, hoping sleep will come better to him now in the safety of Shell Cottage than under the terror of a disillusionment charm around a tent. She, herself, forgoes sleep to go back outside and up the hill until she finds a rock sat atop a mound of freshly moved dirt. 

Kneeling before it, she reaches out to trace the carved words.

_HERE LIES DOBBY, A FREE ELF._

Closing her eyes, she performs the traditional rite of peace to Mother Magic for him. It’s unusual to do so for any non-human but Altaira doesn’t care. Dobby had done so much for her, so much for them throughout her time at Hogwarts, the idea that she shouldn’t grieve his death as much as she would anyone else is preposterous. There was no one braver, in her eyes, no one more kind or loyal than the elf that gave his life to protect his loved ones. 

She conjures an undying gladiolus flower, colored a navy blue in honor of Harry’s first gift to him and places it by his headstone. 

When she goes to sleep that night, she sees gold in the air and yellow green eyes peering up at her and for the briefest moment she sees the most glorious dog, howling away in the background. 

By the time the sun rises the next day, the Cottage has been bustling around for quite some time. Bill and Fleur have managed to sneak away for some private time amidst the chaos, leaving Ollivander as the chaperone over the kids and Griphook. It’s not the _best_ arrangement but nobody can really fault them for it. 

After a frankly pathetic excuse for a breakfast, the group relocates to the living room, finding time to actually catch up. Dean tells them of his time on the run, the Snatchers that came for him at every turn and how he lost his wand, he even tells them of how he used to listen to Potterwatch, glossing over his defense of Harry - though if the clap to the back is anything to go by, the other boy cottoned on to what was left unsaid - and ending with condolences for Ted Tonks’s death. 

Luna tells them of how the Carrows had gotten increasingly bold and dangerous under Snape’s indifference, waving away Altaira’s guilt at not being there.

“The pixies protected me,” she says wistfully, smiling at thin air. 

She continues on to paint a delightfully vivid story of how various creatures kept her company throughout the term after Altaira left and how they tried to protect her from the Death Eater’s that abducted her over the Yule holiday. As Luna’s story grew more and more outlandish and harrowing, Ollivander and Griphook wandered away, taking refuge in the garden. 

Once her story finishes, the Trio take advantage of their new privacy and fill them in on what exactly they’ve been hunting, speaking right over Luna’s horrified gasp when they inform them what a horcrux is. 

“So how many are left?” Altaira asks, deathly serious. 

“Three,” Ron answers easily, “but we’re not sure about what they are.” 

“We’ve got a good idea though,” Hermione interrupts, “we think Helga Hufflepuff’s cup could be one.” 

“Do you know where it is?” Dean asks. 

“Well,” Hermione stumbles, “it’s in Gringotts.” 

The three stare at them blankly. 

“Gringotts?” Altaira repeats, the skepticism clear in her voice.

“How marvelous!” Luna claps her hands lightly together, a giddy smile on her face. 

“Isn’t that like...” Dean waves his hand around searching for the right word, “impenetrable?” 

“Yeah, it is.” Altaira answers him, glaring incredulously at her friends when a horrific thought strikes her. “Whose vault is it in?”

The Trio are the ones that sit in silence now, looking at each other to figure out how to answer the question.

“It’s not in Malfoy’s,” Harry starts but before she has a chance to breathe in relief, he keeps going, “it’s in Bellatrix’s.”

The smile drops from Luna’s face. 

“...Bellatrix?” Dean repeats under his breath, staring in shock. 

“And who _exactly_ gave her the Cup?” Altaira’s eyes drill into Harry’s. 

The silence is all the answer she needs. 

“So you’re telling me, you lot are going to break into the unbreakable bank to get a piece of You-Know-Who’s soul that he gave to his most loyal bitch to safeguard and then destroy it?” 

Harry shrugs at her.

“Are you absolutely mad? In what world, in what _universe_ could this ever be a good idea?” She hisses at them. 

“How else are we supposed to get it then?” Ron asks, voice drawn. 

“Who knows!” She all but shrieks, “But even if this was the only option how are you even going to get _in_?” 

“Well it’s a good thing we’ve got some loyal employees at hand, isn’t it?” Harry asks with a truly wreckless smile and it takes everything in her not to smack him upside the head. 

She opens her mouth to argue more with the absolute wanker but Dean cuts her off at the pass. “What about you Altaira? What have you been up to?” 

She turns a furious eye on him but he doesn’t waver, raising an eyebrow in a very clear _‘get on with it’._ Grumbling for a moment, she shifts in her seat and fills them in on all she’s done after leaving Hogwarts during Samhain. Admittedly, it’s not nearly as much as what the rest of them have been up to but they cling to each word. Ron, especially, is eager to hear every word he can about how his family is doing. 

“We’ve been planning, as well.” Altaira pauses for a second, checking over her shoulder before casting a spell to muffle any sounds from the room they’re in. “The members still in the Ministry and Kingsley have noticed that there’s been an increased presence of Death Eaters in the Department of Mysteries.” Harry flinches back at the name, “We were already planning to infiltrate to find out what’s gotten their attention but if what you’re saying about there still being three horcruxes is true, that may very well be what they’re guarding.” 

“Absolutely not.” Harry snaps at her, leaning forward in his chair. 

She rolls her eyes at him.

“Harry if it _is_ a horcrux then that’s even better for us.” Hermione reasons from beside him.

“Absolutely not,” Harry repeats himself, “do you all not remember what happened the last time a Black tried to destroy a horcrux? The last time a Black was in the Department of Mysteries?” 

They fall silent at that, staring in shock at the boy. 

All except Altaira that is, who just scoffs at her friend. “I’m not asking for permission Harry.” 

“He will kill you.” He says it matter-of-factly, practically a repetition of last night but this time his eyes are _burning_.

“Then at least it will be a worthy death.” 

Hermione drops her head into her hands, not for the first time severely regretting ever introducing the two of them. 

“No need for the dramatics,” Ron interjects, “Altaira’s _probably_ not going to die and the chances of You-Know-Who even being there are slim.” 

“You two support this?” Harry asks Hermione and Ron incredulously, turning sharply to Dean and Luna when the two just stare at him. “You two as well?” 

“It’s not really a voting issue.” Altaira says. Throwing his hands in the air, Harry huffs in frustration. He’s clearly gearing up for another lecture but thank Merlin, Bill and Fleur come in before he gets the chance to start.

“Bill!” She exclaims, shooting up from her seat. “I need a message sent to Kingsley.”

Bill nods his head, chuckling softly at her eagerness to get away. “Come along then.” He leads her down the hallway and towards his little office tucked into the far back corner. She makes quick work of the note with Bill’s help, the new code he developed for the Order still difficult for her to manage on her own. He takes the note from her when they’ve finished, promising to take it to the secret owlery on his way to the Burrow. She beams at him, promising a puzzle book from the Black Vault as repayment for his hard work.

“Don’t worry about it, kid.” He insists with another chuckle, settling a hand on her shoulder. 

Altaira relaxes under the touch a bit until the concern that’s been niggling the back of her mind comes to the front. 

“I should head back,” she sighs.

“Are they still staking out the house?” Bill grimaces in sympathy, moving his hand to ruffle her hair at the face she makes. 

“I know they can’t get in,” Bill’s wards and the old Black family magic make sure of that, “but I’d rather not give them a reason to try.”

He nods along before pushing her gently towards the door. “Don’t forget to say goodbye and grab a sandwich or something before you leave, yeah?” 

“Now how could I do that to Kreacher?” She smiles cheekily at him, ducking through the door when he just rolls his eyes at her. 

She moves slowly back to the living room, not wanting to say goodbye to the friends she just got back. Especially with the fact that the Trio are going to run half-cocked into the most secure location in Wizarding Britain with what she _knows_ will be a mess of a plan. Mussing her own hair, she gathers whatever willpower she has and moves into the room. 

Dean takes the news the best. He’s been worried for her safety ever since she stepped foot on the property, convinced a random Death Eater with a bone to pick would show up and take out all their frustrations on her. He wraps her in a brief hug, squeezing once before letting go with a warm smile and a promise to see each other soon. 

Ron takes it on the chin, he knew she wouldn’t be able to stay long though he _had_ hoped she’d stay longer. He wishes they had more time to hash out their lingering problems but war waits for no man so he has to settle for looking her squarely in the eyes and wishing her good luck. She smirks at him, the insufferable twit, and leaves him with a, “luck has nothing to do with it Weasley.” 

Harry is next in her line of goodbyes, opting to just crush her to his chest instead of using his words but she understands him just the same. _Thank you_ over and over again is in the way his arms wrap around her. _Be safe_ in the way his head rests on hers. _Come back_ in the way his chest shudders against her.

Hermione moves to her once she’s free. She’s not in the place to hug her best friend but oh how she wishes she were. Instead, they just reach out and grasp each other’s hands. 

“Don’t do anything stupid,” Hermione whispers, tears welling in her eyes. 

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” Altaira responds, a warm smile curling her lips. 

They whisper words of protection to one another, of resilience and courage and only when someone shifts in the corner of their eyes do they finally move apart. 

Luna, surprisingly, has the most trouble with her departure. The young girl grips her arm tightly enough to leave bruises, not relenting even when Altaira yelps in surprise. 

“Something dark is awaiting you,” Luna whispers, voice taking on the wondrous quality Altaira is so used to. “You must be careful.” 

Altaira attempts a shaky smile and flippant remark only to have it wiped off by her next words. “You _are_ favored.” 

A vague memory of Kreacher in the parlor spurs her forward and she reaches out to grab the girl’s shoulders. “What do you mean by that, Luna?”

“So many live their lives without ever experiencing Her influence but you _will_ know it.” Luna smiles at her, bright and cheery.

“What do you _mean_?”

“The lubber fiends say you have to learn on your own.” Holding back a cry of frustration, Altaira tightens her grip momentarily. “But don’t worry, it won’t be long until you find out.” 

“I hope you know that’s not comforting in the slightest.”

“Why ever not?” She actually sounds insulted. 

Altaira just rolls her eyes at her friend, hugging her quickly before moving away to take a look at all of them. “Take care of yourselves,” she says earnestly, moving quickly away before they get the chance to say anything. 

Hermione’s muffled complaints about dramatic tendencies are all she needs to hear to know that her friends will be alright. Dread builds in her gut, though, at the idea that there are pieces of Voldemort’s soul floating around in the world. It certainly explains quite a few things but if ever there were any doubts about infiltrating the Ministry before, they’ve been cast to Hell now. 

No, she’ll do whatever it takes to help her friends. 

**Author's Note:**

> this is the worst plot bunny to never leave me alone but i can't help it! this chapter was actually going to be longer lmfao but i decided to split it in half because otherwise it would've been like 10k+ and i can't handle that pressure lol. i might have been a little heavy handed in this chapter but i really wanted to establish some background for altaira before just throwing her to the wolves. 
> 
> thank you so much for reading! please let me know what you think!


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